Road Testing the Men's Short Shorts Trend

"I quickly became very aware that mine is a physique designed to be covered in cloth."

I have, and this isn't a thing I talk about often, a decent set of legs. There's an unexpected musculature that lends them a healthy shape. They have enough hair on them so they don't raise questions (Is that natural? Does he wax?), but not so much that they're, let's say, ursine. Recently, while leaning over to tie my shoes while wearing shorts in New York City's East Village, I received the catcall, "Nice legs!" from an older gentleman walking by. And as we all know, a catcall is the easiest and fastest way to evaluate one's body. I'm not usually vain about my body. It's like Pennsylvania: The same way the Keystone State comprises Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with not much in between, I've got good legs and shapely eyebrows, and it's kind of a wasteland outside of that.

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When I learned that short shorts are coming back into vogue for men, I felt, for the first time in my life, relief upon hearing of a new fashion trend. The idea seemed uncomfortable, but it didn't even approach the unease I would have experienced if I were expected to wear a midriff-accenting belly shirt or a baldness-highlighting visor all of a sudden.

Having unexpectedly found myself in the center of the Venn diagram of "clothes that are cool to wear" and "clothes that show off parts of my body that are not awful to look at," I decided to go big or go home. (Normally my attitude is "Go small then go home," so this was a big leap.) I got three pairs of J. Crew's short men's shorts. One I kept with the seven-inch inseam. The second I had tailored to five inches. The third I altered to a mere three inches. Three inches is short for pretty much anything. Definitely shorts. As I held the modified garment up to examine it, it looked less like a pair of shorts, and more like a salmon-colored title belt from a very festive wrestling federation (not WWE, more like WHEE!).

Honestly, the seven-inch shorts were something I could get into. I came of age in the time of JNCO's (the jeans so voluminous they constituted a Snuggie for each leg) and board shorts so long and spacious they would have made terrific slacks for baby elephants. Less extensive summer attire is a relief compared to those days. As a teen, my friend Dan wore knee-length corduroy shorts for an entire summer one year. Why even bother at that point? You might as well just hop around town in a cut off sleeping bag. Walking through the city in my unmodified short pants felt good, breezy—not all that different from the longer summerwear of my adulthood.

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Katie Friedman

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Photo: Wearing shorts with a five-inch inseam

The five-inch inseam did make me a little self-conscious. I noticed, for the first time, that I have a serious case of "dadthigh," a condition that consists of pasty white leg meat, often exposed while mowing the lawn. With time, obviously, dadthigh fades (or does the opposite of fading, really). But I quickly became very aware that mine is a physique designed to be covered in cloth. I think, were I to have lived in the Garden of Eden, I would have been the first to reach for the cover of a fig leaf, completely unbidden. I hustled from errand to errand in constant fear of being pointed out.

Seven-inch inseam.

"NOPE!" the strangers in my imagination said, with a disappointed head shake meant to signify, "You're not the kind of guy who can pull those off. Put on some loose corduroys. We'll both feel more comfortable." But no such reprisals came. My fashion investigation pressed onward.

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Slipping into the three-inch inseamed shorts felt like a joke. First of all, the pockets extended past the bottom of the shorts, which is a thing that I'd seen on (let's say) "hot" women before. I don't think I'm "hot." Even more than that, I don't have a "hot" attitude. When you're hot, you stride confidently down the street, extending your form to hail a taxi to take you from place to place. My body is designed for squeezing into packed subway cars and apologizing to those whose feet I clumsily step on. More importantly, my boxer briefs crept down past the hem of the shorts and even the pockets below them. I don't know whether you've ever had underwear that was longer than your shorts, but it's like having toilet paper stuck to your shoe all day. It is the real "walk of shame." (Rolling up your underwear so it fits inside your shorts is even worse, somehow.) I met up with a friend for dinner wearing these shorts, but, in my mind, nearly nude. Sitting on the subway, I felt the backs of my thighs smush grossly against the cool seat. At least it wasn't warm, I thought.

Katie Friedman

Photo: Wearing shorts with a three-inch inseam.

"I don't think they're that short," she said. And I realized she was right. Women wear shorts that short all the time. It's the norm. Not only that, but for all my self-consciousness and dread, nobody would have noticed I was wearing anything abnormal if I hadn't mentioned it. The shortness of your shorts isn't on your legs, it's in your mind. I didn't have to feel self-conscious in my borderline Daisy Dukes as long as I walked with pride.

That said, pride in my body is something I find hard to muster, so I think I'll stick with long pants.

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